Lavinia's Letter
by namelesspanda
Summary: 2x08 "deleted scene", based off of Daisy's comment in 3x03. The kitchen maid goes up to Miss Lavinia Swire's sickroom to tend to the fire. Oneshot.


_A/N: In 3x03, Daisy explains that on the day of Lavinia's death, she was asked to post a letter. She also says, "We got to talking." Short deleted scene. My best attempt at recreating Fellowes' characters. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

She felt her vision blur as she passed a hand over her eyes, smudging the tears that dripped from her nose, ran stickily over her fingers and seeped into locks of reddish hair. There was no pale silk handkerchief for her to wipe them away; she never seemed to have one at the right moment.

_You know I'd do anything for you, I've wanted to marry you from the first moment I saw you, I'd be Queen of the County if that's what it takes._

_But I know now that's not the way it should be._

It wasn't enough for her to love him so hopelessly. It wasn't enough for her to wait faithfully as he fought at the front (the terrible Front that he would never tell her about), for her to write letters to him that were perfect glimpses of home (and receive replies that were curt by comparison), for her to be content with a chaste kiss on the back of her hand when he returned so briefly (though she dreamt of more, far more), for her to gently persuade him that she _wanted_ to be at his side even if he couldn't walk.

"_I couldn't accept…Lavinia's _sacrifice_ of her life, her children…her future…and then just give her the brush-off when I was well again, well"—his voice almost more of a caress than the fingers that were tracing over the perfect pale shoulder, the shoulder that was not hers—"I couldn't, could I?"_

All that she had given him, carelessly crumbled before her as she watched them twirl.

The memory slapped her square across the face, and she swore she could feel a sting on her cheek. She couldn't be Mary, not even for him. And how right they had looked together. The Earl and Countess, the fair and the dark, the warm and the cold, the matching stubbornness but perfect understanding of one another. Matthew became vulnerable, truly himself in Mary's presence…whereas in hers he was always kind, yet strong and guarded. If only he would accept that as truth.

She wanted her father.

"_You could never be a nuisance,"_ she dreamther father would say, and when the words came from _his_ mouth she'd believe it. Reginald Swire had a way of speaking that left the other person without a doubt that it was true. As a little girl, that voice had lulled her to sleep every night, and she needed to hear it tell her she was that same sweet girl and not some animal that lay snuffling in everyone's path. But she wasn't safe. She was dangerous. She was poisonous.

The door creaked open and she turned almost childishly so that her face was buried in the soft white pillow.

* * *

Daisy pushed the rusted bucket into the heavy door, legs shaking, and peeped her head delicately round the corner. "Miss?" she called hesitantly.

"Yes?" A cough.

Quivering, the kitchen maid said, "Did—did you ring, miss?"

"Oh," said the voice on the other side of the door, as if remembering. "Of course, thank you. Come in."

Daisy pattered across the floor and dropped the bucket hastily in front of the fireplace before whipping her hands behind her back. She couldn't help but notice the lady's tearstained cheeks and puffed eyes. Gone was the doll-like figurine that sat next to Mr. Crawley at dinner. But she pretended not to heed it. "Is there anything you need…Miss Swire?"

"The fire and a…handkerchief, if you have one."

Fishing a silk cloth from her pocket, the kitchen maid bobbed forward and passed it to the red-eyed woman.

"Could you—?"

"'Course," Daisy chirped. Kneeling in front of the bucket, she carefully moved a few bits of tinder into the near-dead flame and prodded it encouragingly with the poker until it flickered. "Is everything comfortable?"

"Very, thank you." Miss Swire ran a delicate hand over the covers, then paused. "You must be so tired. Do you ever get any time away?"

"Only Sunday afternoons," Daisy said fearfully, her face twisting quickly into guilt upon seeing the other woman's worried expression. "But it isn't bad—honest."

"And what do you do with your free time?" Lavinia's voice was gentle.

"I…" Faltering, Daisy scooped up the bucket and clutched it to her in near desperation.

"Do you visit?"

"Sometimes." The word quavered, mid-air. The kitchen maid thought of poor old Mr. Mason for only the briefest instant before scrambling into a hasty curtsey. "Is there anythin' else you need?"

"No…but they must need you downstairs," Miss Swire said sympathetically.

"Mrs. Patmore does," Daisy agreed, in a tone that was high-pitched and unsure. "But no one else will even notice I've gone."

"Have a rest, then. It isn't right for you to be tired because of us," Lavinia suggested, indicating the armchair next to the bedside that had recently been vacated by Matthew. Her eyes pricked, but she dabbed determinedly at them with the silk cloth.

The dutiful maid within Daisy ached to run downstairs and go about her duties before she could fall behind in her chores. But the tightness of her sore legs made the offered seat too tempting. As the maid lowered herself as daintily as she could into the chair, Miss Swire fell into a coughing fit. Daisy winced. The lady sounded like William had on his deathbed. So, so like William… "Are you all right…miss?" she asked.

"Perfectly," Lavinia replied, though she mopped yet again at her eyes with the near-sodden handkerchief.

A pause filled the room.

"Well," Lavinia said finally. Her tone was tinged with regret. "That's a lovely ring."

Daisy's eyes widened in terror. "It's…"

Lavinia shook her head, almost dismissively. "Never mind. I suppose it really isn't my place to ask."

"No, it's…William's," Daisy explained. "William Mason's. We were married," she said stiffly. "He was Mr. Crawley's batman, you see."

Lavinia flinched. "Oh." Another pause. "I'm…terribly sorry. I knew he married, but I didn't realize it was…"

"It—" Daisy's voice quaked.

"He—Mr. Crawley"—here the maid noted the absence of the heir's Christian name—"told me all about William. I'm so sorry. He was a kind fellow."

Fearfully, she nodded. "Very kind," she agreed.

"It's always very sad," Lavinia said simply, "when you lose someone you love."

A frown played at the corners of Daisy's tight mouth. "Yes," she said. "It is."

"But I'm sure he loved you."

"He did," Daisy declared, but her brows pinched even tighter. "I know he did."

"And," Lavinia continued, seemingly intent on reassurance, "I'm sure he knew you loved him back." She swallowed, twisting the handkerchief into half-knots. "And that's what matters." Glancing up, she saw that the kitchen maid had all but frozen.

"Of course." It was a hasty reply, and Lavinia knew it.

"You can tell me," she said, her voice suddenly sweet. She felt as though she was ten again and coaxing her chum Polly to divulge the name of her secret admirer.

"I loved 'im," Daisy said, her face apprehensive. "But it was more like a…a duty?" She shifted nervously in her seat.

Lavinia's eyes were almost too dry to be saucer-like in the silence that followed. "Could you…" she said finally, "could you bring some stationery?...I'd like to write a letter."


End file.
